


The Spires No Longer Dream

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius, Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:42:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pradhi Bajpai finds himself in unexpected danger simply through being engaged to Harriet Wooster.  But this quiet young man is not quite the soft target he appears to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spires No Longer Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows immediately on from "Her Own Decision", and there is a reference in it to DuPree which will not make sense unless you have read "Shadow Work". Otherwise, it stands alone.

“So how is Uncle Ardsley?” asked Pradhi Bajpai. It had been quite natural to him for a while now to think of his fiancée's favourite uncle as a sort of honorary uncle of his own, especially since the two men had got on so well from the very start. Pradhi had met Sir Ardsley Wooster within about half an hour of meeting his lovely niece, and immediately taken to this polite, clever, self-effacing Englishman who had quickly turned out to be able to keep up a good conversation in Hindustani.

Harriet Wooster did not smile. “He's in a volcanic rage, darling, and so will you be when I tell you why,” she replied. “You remember what I told you about that Miss King?”

Pradhi blinked. The idea of Sir Ardsley in a volcanic rage was one to which he was having a little difficulty adjusting. “Yes?” he said cautiously. He looked round. “Are we safe to talk here?”

Harriet gave him a quick little smile of approval. “Well, since Uncle Ardsley booked both our rooms here for us, I'd say yes.”

“Very good,” said Pradhi. “So Uncle Ardsley is being very annoyed because Miss King tried to recruit you into the Service?”

“No. Uncle Ardsley is... darling, 'very annoyed' does not begin to cover it. Uncle Ardsley is practically exploding because a Miss Denby, who was his old boss in the Service, has just been to see him to try to lean on him to recruit me himself. After I'd said no. Of course, he couldn't let on to her that he already knew I'd said no, because I wasn't supposed to have told anyone they'd asked me. Not even him. He put on a very fine performance over that one, even though he was so furious. But in fact she actually admitted that they'd asked me, and then he really let fly at her. She went crawling out with a massive flea in her ear.”

“You were there?” asked Pradhi, astonished.

Harriet grinned. “He sent me to hide behind the curtain before she came in. So, yes, I was there, and I heard every word. That was why he brought us here.”

Pradhi considered. “He must have had a good reason for wanting you to hear that.”

Harriet nodded. “He did, and that's why we need to talk now. He wanted me to be absolutely clear what I'm dealing with.” She looked at him determinedly. “What we're both dealing with, I'm afraid. I'm sorry. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to get dragged into this. But it seems someone else has already done the dragging.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Harriet sighed. “I expect you've formed a picture of British Intelligence in your mind from looking at Uncle Ardsley. Do yourself a favour, take that picture, and tear it to shreds.”

“Darling, I am not quite understanding you.”

“Very well. Uncle Ardsley is an honourable man. He got into the spy business to serve his country, and he did that very creditably. But that doesn't mean the people he was working for were honourable.” She paused. “I believe I called them a pack of weasels. Uncle Ardsley didn't dispute that in any way.”

“Yes, but even if they are weasels, they are not being my weasels,” Pradhi objected. “I am a citizen of India.”

“Yes, but you're engaged to marry a British citizen, and one that the Service has got its hooks into,” Harriet explained patiently. “I'm afraid they _are_ your weasels now. First of all, they sent Miss King to recruit me. When that didn't work, they sent Miss Denby to lean on Uncle Ardsley. Now he's sent her packing. He must be untouchable now... but they can get at you.”

Pradhi stared. “You think they'll have me deported?”

“No,” said Harriet sombrely, taking his hand. “I think they'll do a lot worse than that. So does Uncle Ardsley. He's already got an agent in Oxford specifically to protect you.”

Pradhi was silent, stunned.

“It wouldn't do them any good to have you deported,” Harriet continued. “I'd just follow you. And they know they couldn't stop me doing that, because I've got Uncle Ardsley to help. If I wanted to leave the country, he could arrange that without batting an eyelid. So I am very much afraid they will try to kill you. They will, of course, want to make it look like an accident; they know I'm not stupid, and therefore if you're found obviously murdered they will credit me with being able to put two and two together. But as long as they know I won't be joining the Service while you're alive, you're at risk, until they can be persuaded I won't do it in any circumstances whatsoever.”

“Can Uncle Ardsley not do that?” asked Pradhi, faintly.

“Oh, he'll try, I have no doubt,” replied Harriet confidently. “But in the meantime... don't be afraid. You need to know, because you need to take care. However, you haven't just got Uncle Ardsley's agent looking out for you.” She grinned. “You've got me.”

“Ah,” said Pradhi thoughtfully. “Now I understand why he is putting us both in this hotel rather than you sleeping in his spare room.”

“Yes, that's exactly what I thought,” said Harriet. “To be honest I wish he'd get a bigger flat for when he's in London, then we can both stay; it seems rather out of place to have an Ambassador living somewhere like that. Oh, and that reminds me. Cousin Agatha's birthday is next month. I think we ought to get something for her this afternoon, then we can wrap it up and give it to her to take with her when they leave, and we shan't have to post it overseas.”

“How old is she going to be?” asked Pradhi, grateful for the sudden change of tone.

“Five. I thought perhaps a collection of detective stories. She likes those. But at her age, nothing too shockingly gore-filled.”

“Do you think she might like Trelawney Thorpe?” asked Pradhi.

“She's already read everything Trelawney Thorpe has ever done, but the idea is not a bad one. No, we'll find her some of Mr Holmes' adventures, perhaps.”

Pradhi smiled. “I'm sure they are not knowing what to do with her at school.”

“Oh, they know exactly what to do with her. When she finishes her work early, give her a good book to read. She's no trouble at all.” Harriet smiled back. “Come on, darling. Let's go and get ourselves some lunch and then look for Agatha's present. And then we'll go and have dinner with Uncle Ardsley and the family, and it will all be a lovely day.”

“Well, lovely except that someone is now wanting to kill me,” said Pradhi.

“They wouldn't dare try that in front of Uncle Ardsley. And if they think they can dare in front of me, they don't know me yet.”

Pradhi nodded, at least somewhat reassured. It was not just the fact that his beloved was prepared to fight like a mongoose if confronted with a nest of snakes; he was also pretty sure that she could out-think them, and that was going to be the most important thing here. “Very well,” he said. “Then we had better go and get some lunch.”

The rest of the day did indeed pass quite happily, and, when the hour for dinner came round, Sir Ardsley had shed all traces of incandescence and was entirely his normal pleasant, agreeable self. For Pradhi, this had the effect of giving Harriet's earlier dire warnings a certain dreamlike quality; but he was more than sensible enough to know that they should be taken seriously nonetheless.

They stayed in London overnight, then caught the airship back to Oxford early next morning. They landed in a chilly, misty drizzle which made Pradhi shiver and pull his collar up about his ears. On the whole he liked England, but weather like this never happened in Lucknow; if it ever got as cool as this – which it occasionally did in the middle of winter – at least it was dry, and if it rained – which it did with a vengeance in late summer – at least it was hot. You didn't get this dreadful creeping damp.

Harriet slipped her arm through his. “I know,” she said. “We don't like it much here either. We're just used to it. Come on. This isn't the weather for walking. Let's go and get a hansom.”

They did. It was better than walking, certainly, but there were still too many indistinct shapes in the mist, and those were beginning to make Pradhi feel a little jumpy. Any one of those shapes out there could be following him, plotting to kill him.

There was, of course, also the more cheering thought that any one of those shapes could be Uncle Ardsley's agent. He wished he knew what the man looked like. It was a man; Uncle Ardsley had said that much, at least.

Well, it was male. Knowing Uncle Ardsley, there was always the outside chance it might be a Jäger. Pradhi was aware that there was at least one in England who could possibly be called upon if required. He comforted himself with that hope. Then again, would a Jäger be far too conspicuous in Oxford? He had never seen one here, and only very occasionally seen one, from a distance, even in London.

He slipped an arm round Harriet's waist, and she responded by nestling her head against his shoulder. Well. Whatever peril he was in on her account, she was worth it. All of it.

Back in his rooms, he tried to get on with some work; he was reading law, and normally he found the subtle nuances of that subject fascinating, but at the moment he could not concentrate. He realised that he wanted something more concrete to do, something requiring his hands as well as his brain. Harriet, of course, would not be having any problems in that regard; she was reading mechanical engineering, although most of the time she didn't so much read it as get on with it. The steam-powered tandem she'd built them was the wonder of Oxford. And when she wasn't tinkering with bits of machinery, she was learning to fence; she might well have started because Uncle Ardsley was a good fencer, but she now had rather more pressing reasons for continuing with it. Pradhi, however, was normally a more sedentary type.

He was not feeling quite so sedentary at the moment.

An accident. Very well. Go for a walk round the quad, but go carefully.

There wasn't a tripwire at the top of his staircase. There were, however, two neat holes in the woodwork, one on either side, just above floor level. They looked quite fresh. Pradhi crouched down beside one of them and ran a finger gently over it, feeling cautiously for splintering.

I didn't notice those on the way up, he thought. Of course, that doesn't mean they weren't there. This could be a relic from an attempt before we went to London. Still... someone's good.

And Uncle Ardsley's agent, so far, is better. That's encouraging to know.

I think I'll report those holes. But I'll play the innocent and report them as simple vandalism. Telling the College authorities that someone is out to kill me is liable to open a whole new can of worms. If it were as simple as that, the police would be involved by now, but it isn't. And if they deduce for themselves that someone is trying to kill me, at least they'll assume it's just... normal murder. What a bizarre phrase. Even so, I can't think of another one.

One of the doors on the staircase opened as he passed it. He almost leapt into the air. A head appeared round it.

“Great Scott, Bajpai, you're jittery,” it said.

“Oh – Bloomfield! Sorry about that. You startled me,” Pradhi replied. “I was miles away.”

The rest of Bloomfield followed his head out onto the tiny landing outside the door. “Don't blame you, old man. If I came from India, I'd want to be there in this dashed awful weather too.”

Pradhi grinned. “I think you would not be saying that in the middle of summer. It is very hot where I come from.”

“Going anywhere in particular?” asked Bloomfield companionably. “Because if you're not, I'm taking a stroll into town to pick up some jam and stuff, and you're welcome to come with me if you like. I could do with the company.”

“Yes, thank you, I would like to do that,” said Pradhi. “I was going to take a walk myself, but I was not quite knowing where I wanted to go.”

“Oh, that sort of mood. I know the one,” replied Bloomfield wisely. “You've not had an argument with your young lady, I hope?”

“Oh, good heavens, no,” said Pradhi. “We are both getting on exceedingly well.”

“Glad to hear it.” Bloomfield fell into step beside him. “Because I've had the devil of a row with mine. I suppose you don't have any wise ideas on how I can patch things up?”

Pradhi was not sure he did, apart from the obvious one, which was “go and apologise”. However, he was happy to listen and provide what counsel he could; trying to help Bloomfield with his troubles was, apart from anything else, an excellent way to take his mind off his own. They walked to the nearest row of shops, where Bloomfield bought his jam and one or two other small necessities, and Pradhi bought some chocolate for Harriet. Pradhi was not particularly keen on chocolate himself; having been brought up with Indian sweets, which were very different, it tasted odd to him. But Harriet liked it, and he naturally knew her favourite kind.

“That's a good idea,” said Bloomfield brightly. “I should buy Adeline something, too. What about some flowers, eh?”

“Flowers are very nice if you are not being able to think of anything else,” replied Pradhi, “but I am thinking it would be better if you would buy her something you know she will really like. One of her favourite things.”

Bloomfield considered. “H'mm. You're a sensible man, Bajpai. You have a point. Well... she does have a weakness for hats, and I think I'll be able to pick out one she'll really like. Let's go and find a hat shop, shall we?”

Pradhi was not especially keen to go and find a hat shop, but this was his friend, after all. “Very well,” he said, with a smile.

They crossed the road. Although they had been chatting in an apparently relaxed fashion, Pradhi was still hypervigilant. That was why he saw what was happening before it was too late...

“Move!” he yelled, pushing Bloomfield forward with a strength he had not realised he possessed. He dived after him. A steam omnibus, suddenly out of control, shot past within a hair's breadth of the two of them, the screams of its passengers dopplering away down the street as it continued to pick up speed.

Pradhi muttered an oath in Hindustani that would have got his ears boxed at home. They really are snakes, he thought bitterly. Those passengers are all going to die, short of a miracle. And I can't save them.

But _you..._

“Excuse me, Bloomfield,” he called to his stunned friend. He was already running after the distant figure. You. Whoever you are. You're the one who tampered with the omnibus. I'll get you, and when I do, I will make you regret it.

Bloomfield was haring after him. “What's going on?” he panted.

“Get back, Bloomfield. This is dangerous. I can't explain. Stop the omnibus if you know of any way to do it. Go!”

Bloomfield hesitated for a moment, but then obeyed. What on earth he could do about the omnibus was anyone's guess, but at least Pradhi knew he would try. His quarry was running now, but Pradhi was quick, catching him up with every long, loping stride.

He's making for the river, Pradhi thought. If he dives in, I could lose him. I can swim, but I'm not as used to the cold as he will be; I could go into shock if I go after him. He'll know that, damn him. I have to catch him before he gets there.

The man reached the bank of the Thames. Pradhi made a desperate lunge and grabbed his collar; but he was already diving, and Pradhi lost his footing and went with him. The chill shot instantly through his whole body, leaving him almost paralysed. The other man wrenched free from his grip, turned, caught him by the lapel, and swam with him to the middle of the river, where he let go and immediately swam away.

Huh, thought Pradhi. Definitely a professional. He didn't bother to gloat. He just...

I'm drowning.

He was dizzily conscious of a disturbance in the water near him, and then strong hands caught hold of him and pulled his head above the surface. He blinked, coughed and retched uncontrollably. It was impossible to see who was helping him.

“Brave lad,” said a voice. The accent was strange, possibly northern. “But you shouldn't go haring off after that kind of character. Leave him to me next time, all right?”

Pradhi tried to answer. It came out as “glug”.

“Yes, I'm Sir Ardsley's agent, and once I've got you safe, I'm going to go and earn what he's paying me,” the voice continued. Pradhi realised they were now close to the riverbank. “He tried to drown you. I've got witnesses to that, as it happens. That means the gloves are now off.” The voice sounded distinctly satisfied.

Pradhi spat out the remaining river water. “You're going to kill him?”

“Oh, only if I've got to. Sir Ardsley's not keen on killing people. I'm just going to go and cause a bit of trouble for him, that's all. Also, I've got you as a witness to what he did to the omnibus. You were very sharp indeed there. I didn't see that. He'd managed to get it between him and me when he did it. I don't know if that was deliberate or not; I didn't think he knew I was watching him. Even so, that's how it happened.” Pradhi was still not able to see his rescuer clearly; however, they were now leaving the water and there was a crowd of onlookers on the bank, so further conversation on the subject was impossible.

“All right, all right,” said Sir Ardsley's agent. “Don't crowd the young feller. He nearly drowned; he needs to breathe. Someone go and get a cab, and I'll take him to hospital. He wants keeping warm and keeping an eye on. And if anyone's got a blanket or could get one, that'd be useful.”

Pradhi was a little hazy about subsequent events, but then he was, after all, chilled to the bone. He vaguely recalled being wrapped in a blanket and lifted into a cab, and then there had been some voices, most of which he didn't know, but among all of them the constant down-to-earth burr of his rescuer.

And then a new voice brought him sharply back to reality.

“Darling!” exclaimed Harriet. “You're awake.”

Pradhi looked up at her. “I have been a little bit awake for a long time,” he replied, with a smile. “Now I am fully awake.”

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “You were brave, but you didn't know what you were getting into,” she scolded.

“I am having only one thing to say to you about that,” replied Pradhi. “Captain DuPree.”

Harriet grinned wryly. “All right. Point taken.”

“What happened to the omnibus?” he asked.

“All safe,” replied Harriet. “Horribly shaken up, but safe. The driver kept her head. She couldn't stop the thing, but she was able to steer it onto the main road and then into a field, where it eventually slowed and stopped through friction.”

“Thank all the gods for that. Where is the man who pulled me out of the water? I was spluttering too much to thank him properly.”

“Oh, him? He's gone. Said he had to see a man about something.”

Pradhi gave her a little smile which told her that he would not like to be in the shoes of the man in question. “I'm sure we can get a message to him.”

“I'm sure we can,” Harriet agreed. “They're going to be keeping you in overnight, because you're still recovering from hypothermia. Do you need me to go and explain to any lecturers?”

“Thank you. If you just tell my tutor, Dr Clifton-Saunders, that will be all right. He will tell everyone else who is needing to know.”

“Good. That makes life simple. I'll find him as soon as I can.”

“Oh, and... could you possibly tell Mr Bloomfield what has been going on? He will be worried.”

“Of course, darling. I owe him that anyway, since from what I hear he was very lucky not to get killed himself.”

Harriet left the hospital thoughtfully. She had now met Uncle Ardsley's agent – not that he had said who he was, of course, but it was perfectly obvious, given the way he'd been on hand to pull Pradhi out of the river. He'd given his name as Matthew Forrest. That might or might not be his real name, but, whether it was or not, she would remember him easily enough. He looked as though he might once have been a street fighter, and if Pradhi could not place his accent, she certainly could. He was from Lancashire. There weren't so many Lancashire people round here.

Attempted murder. With witnesses.

But then, the witnesses were mostly witnesses only because they had known that murder was likely to be attempted. And that was the sort of thing that made difficulties in a court of law. Even so, Harriet had to conclude that the Service had overplayed its hand.

Which probably wasn't something it normally did, but it hadn't made sufficient allowance for Pradhi. She grinned. Oh, he was wonderful. Tell him he was in danger, and he'd go and meet it head on. Very politely, naturally, because that was the way one did things in Lucknow.

She went to find Dr Clifton-Saunders, and explained, as far as she reasonably could, what had happened. The tutor was naturally very sympathetic, and assured her that everyone relevant would be informed, there would be no problems at all, and he hoped that Pradhi would make a quick recovery. Then she went to look for Bloomfield; but there was no sign of him in his rooms, and nobody seemed to have any idea where he was, so she decided to try again later. In the meantime, she was, once again, running out of various components. There simply didn't seem to be enough brass cogs in Oxford to keep up with her mechanical inclinations.

The weather was clearing up by now, so she walked back into town, where she spent a happy half-hour at her favourite ironmonger's and emerged with her pockets full of cogs, gears, pistons, flywheels and any number of other small components. She was walking back towards her own college, which was not the same one as Pradhi's, when she heard quick footsteps on the path behind her. She turned.

Matthew Forrest was barrelling up the hill behind her, rather faster than his natural walking pace. She stopped to wait for him, and he slowed gratefully.

“Got a letter for you, Miss Wooster,” he said, as he drew to a halt. He pulled it out of his battered tweed jacket.

“Thank you, Mr Forrest.” She opened it, read it, and smiled. “Would you like to see?”

He grinned broadly. “Don't need to, miss. I stood over the little b... that is to say, the little thug... and made him write it. And a copy, too. That went to his boss. Posted it meself, I did.”

“I feel a little bad for you,” Harriet mused. “I suppose you've put yourself out of a job now.”

“Doubt it,” said Mr Forrest smugly. “Sir Ardsley's going to be pleased with me now. Even if he doesn't need me again for a while, I expect he'll be recommending me to a few people who do.”

“Yes, I should think Uncle Ardsley is going to be very pleased with you indeed,” said Harriet. “Getting a promise in writing, on official Service notepaper... that's neat work.”

“Well, he tried to drown your young man, and people saw him,” replied Mr Forrest. “B... blessed amateur. He panicked and lost it. If he'd had any sense at all, he'd have made a big show of rescuing him and I wouldn't have been able to do a thing. But there were people on the bridge who saw him let go and swim away. How's he doing, by the way?”

“Fine. Awake and talking. But they're keeping him in overnight. Hypothermia.”

Mr Forrest nodded. “He's got some guts, that boy.”

“He certainly has,” Harriet agreed, warmly. “I thought I was going to have to do all the fighting.”

Mr Forrest blinked. “Er... well, now you say, I suppose after all you're Sir Ardsley's niece.”

Harriet grinned. “Yes, I am, and I'm proud to be; but somewhat more relevant is the fact that I'm Harriet Wooster.”

“Can see why they want you,” he muttered. “Anyway. It's all sorted. Nice to have met you and all, but I'm on the next airship back to London now.”

“Good to meet you too, Mr Forrest. And thank you.”

“My very great pleasure, Miss Wooster.” He bowed formally, and walked away back down the road.

Excellent, thought Harriet, squeezing the precious letter into a trouser pocket that was slightly less full of ironmongery than the others. Later, I'll go back to the hospital and give Pradhi the glad news. But first of all, something to eat, I think.

Once she had eaten, she set off back towards the hospital; but her route took her quite close to Pradhi's college, and so she decided to take a short detour and see if Bloomfield had returned yet. As it happened, he had. She found him sitting in his rooms looking very despondent.

“Oh, Miss Wooster,” he said, looking up. “What happened to Mr Bajpai? Is he all right?”

“I'm just on my way to see him now,” Harriet replied. “He'll be fine. He had a bit of an accident – fell into the river and got very chilled. So he's in hospital now, and will be overnight, but they'll let him out in the morning.” She paused. “Are you all right, Mr Bloomfield? You don't look at all happy. You weren't hurt, I hope?”

“No, not at all. Mr Bajpai reacted extremely quickly; he pushed me out of the way. He must have astonishing reflexes. It's Adeline, I mean Miss Cunningham.”

“Oh dear. Have you had a tiff?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so. And I was going to buy her a hat to make up for it, but I really couldn't decide which one she would like, and in the end I just rather lost my head and bought flowers, but Mr Bajpai was quite right that those weren't the best idea. Well, how was I to know dahlias make her sneeze?”

“Where does she live?” asked Harriet.

Bloomfield told her.

“Very well. I shall go and see her now, and tell her that you are inconsolably miserable and racked with guilt. If that doesn't bring her over on fluttering feet, she has a heart of stone and you would be best employed in finding a new young lady with a heart of more conventionally malleable material.”

“Will you? Oh, you're very kind, Miss Wooster!”

“It's the very least I can do,” she assured him.

Bloomfield was not in any way stupid. However, he was not bright enough for it to occur to him to ask why she should say such a thing; and he was certainly not bright enough to deduce that she would never have said it at all if she had so much as thought he was.


End file.
